V7 Announcements

Credit to staff for writing the announcements: Deamon, Emprexx Plush, MK Kilmarnock, Backslash, Buko, Ruggahissy.

The First Announcement
Saturday, October 15th, 2016: Johannesburg, South Africa, 4:30 PM

The domino effect that led Adimabua Lawal from poverty to comfort started with his obsession with detail. It had convinced instructors, in the most generous sense of the word, from his village all the way to Kaduna State that he was worth their attention. When he became a desk clerk at the Bafra his attentiveness carried him from part time work to meet education expenses to a position in management. A Master’s in Accounting and a fifteen year reputation took him to Abuja, Accra, Cairo, Luanda, Kampala, Dar Es Salaam, Johannesburg; any city on the continent would receive him with the right recommendation. Many cities in the world at large as well, if he desired to see them as more than numbers. Looking at all they had given him, it was hard to deny his curious instincts were a gift.

Adi would deny it, of course, but he would not blame an outsider for their confusion. Dredging through information that seemed benign beyond the uneasy twinge in his gut was often a thankless task. You could consider it like turning over loose stones in the wilderness. Most often you would find nothing at all, and once in countless numbers of flips you might find something of notable value. A man who dedicated his life to the task might make a passing career with enough luck, but only if he avoided the outcome that fell between common failure and rare success. There was always a chance when you exposed the dirt to daylight you would disturb something irritable, some coiled creature now wary of your intrusion. Any reasonable person would be wise to retreat carefully enough to make it seem you were never there before forgetting they saw anything. Only a fool would press on after its greeting, and they were owed no distress when bitten.

The black 2009 Acura TL waiting beside his normal parking spot would not have raised suspicion if Adi had not been very, very foolish. Scanning his apartment’s underground parking structure had become a habit over the last few months. It would have been more productive to stop prodding at the inconsistent transactions he’d discovered, but he could no more do that than stop staring at every unknown vehicle he noticed before he parked. So every day he came home expecting to be discovered, and every day his paranoia was unsatisfied.Today was no different until an impeccably dressed woman exited the Acura’s rear passenger door and tilted her glasses down at him. She could pass for a foreign consultant, though one you would not notice unless she demanded your attention. When her dark brown eyes fixed on his, though, Adi understood her purpose. He had been noticed.

No.

He had been bitten.

They took M1 out of Killarney. He was more familiar with the motorway’s southern path to Soweto; if he had not been interrupted he had planned to visit Lwazi, treat him to dinner if his pride would allow it. Instead they headed north to the highway. They could end up roundabout to the CBD, perhaps, Joubert or Hillbrow. Alexandra. Honeydew.

“Mr. Lawal?”

Sonia, as she’d introduced herself, sat across from him in the back seat. She had questioned him again a few moments ago. He’d already lost it. The silent driver she had declined to introduced gave him a look of contempt through the rearview. “I apologize. Could you repeat that?”

“How long have you been following these transactions?”

Fingers bridged in his lap with a long exhale. “The first...it is hard to say. No more than a year ago, maybe less. I did not pay much attention to it.”

The driver’s eyes returned to the road. There was silence other than the sound of traffic and Sonia’s scribbling. “Why?” She did not look up at him.

His bright, broad smile reflected in the mirror. “It was not my account.”

“How many accounts have you connected now?”

Adi tapped his fingers together. “Twenty-three.”

She looked up from her notes. “Are you responsible for any of them?”

“No.”

Sonia raised an eyebrow. He did not wait for her to verbalize the question before he chuckled. “I know, I know. It is hypocritical, but I am getting old. Little excites me but mystery. My boyfriend, he never stops scolding me, I cannot help prying where I do not belong. It causes him much stress trying to keep up.”

“Does he know about this?”

He made sure to have her attention before he spoke. “No. We do not discuss business, only gossip. He is harmless.”

Her expression did not change. “Of course. What about your coworkers? Your supervisors?” Eyes settled on him in the mirror. Adi swallowed and shook his head.

“No. I did not know what I would tell them I found at first, and once I did…”

“What have you found?”

His hands came up slowly. “I do not know. I know what surrounds it; forged dates, suspect accounts, names and companies that seem to come from nowhere, but the heart of it? I could not tell you. I do not believe I would want to tell anyone if I could.”

When Sonia’s pen stopped and her eyes lingered on his face, he knew he had misspoken. “Say you have to come up with something. What would you tell me?”

No matter what else was to come, Adi could not say they had been unkind to him. He had entered the car on invitation, been allowed to retrieve his satchel though it sat out of reach in the empty front seat, even been given a cold bottle of water for his troubles. He had not opened it until now, but Sonia’s unflinching stare had left his mouth dry. She was still looking after he wiped the condensation from his lips. “Have you heard of the Miss World riots?”

For the first time since they’d met under his apartment, Sonia gave him a hint of a smile. “I haven’t.”

Adi shook his head. “I do not blame you. They did not hold international interest long. I lived in Kaduna before they broke out. We never wanted the contest to come here, you know, even those with no religious objections. It was a messy thing, too controversial. It is fascinating if you wish to learn another time. For now...it is simplest to say a journalist in Lagos took the opportunity to make unkind remarks at The Prophet’s expense.” He paused to take another sip. “It went as one would expect.”

His gaze went from Sonia to the window past her. At the speed they were going the countryside all blurred together. If he let his eyes unfocus he could be anywhere, even Kaduna on the morning of November 20th, 2002. “I managed for a hotel at the time, the Bafra. I heard discontent on all sides every day, so I should have known it was coming. It was so fast and so slow at once. Nothing came the day the article was published, or the day after. Monday morning she was fired, Tuesday they issued a front page apology. It was finished. We would return to unrest rather than outrage, that was the hope.”

His left hand stilled the nervous bouncing in his left knee. “I am not a religious man, but I appreciate the buildings. There was a church a few blocks from my apartment I liked to visit, and Wednesday morning was free." It was clear now. His tense slipped' drifting from recollection to visualization. "As I approach it a van tears down the street beside me, nearly clips me with a mirror. It screeches to a halt in front of the church but before it stops I see men pour out of it, more than I imagine can fit. Crude weapons in some hands, gasoline in others. I should not be here, I tell myself, I must go but I do not. I stare as bodies are dragged screaming from the church. Beaten, tossed down its steps. There are flames lapping at its walls. That is when he sees me.”

The eyes in the mirror bored into him with increasing impatience, but Sonia’s hint of a smirk had not faded. “I know him,” Adi continued, “I know his face though I have never seen it so twisted in anger. It has been some years since we attended class together now, but we still recognize each other, and that is dangerous for a man in his position. He cannot know the rioters will be too numerous to name or to punish. He approaches me with carnage in the background and asks, very simply, what I have seen.”

His time was running thin. There was only so long before it looked like he was stalling. “You do this for a living, so I am sure you know the first instinct in all of us when we are caught doing something we should not have done. To deny. I tell this man I have seen nothing, and now I have not wronged him....unless he does not believe me. I am not a good liar, but this man does not want to hear the truth. Not this truth which makes his work harder.” Adi shrugged. “So I offer him another. I tell him on my walk I saw a building. A warehouse, I think, though for what I only guess. It has been undisturbed for all the years I have lived near it. A disservice to the community. If someone were to put it to use it would be for the greater good, even if their works go unseen. Perhaps, I wonder aloud, he would like me to show it to him, and you know? He smiles. He claps me on the shoulder as a brother, and he returns to his business with new peace of mind.”

Adi’s gaze returned to Sonia with fresh intensity. “What I am trying to say, miss, is with all of this laid out in the open I would not tell you anything.” He watched her face closely. “Instead, I would like to ask you if you want to see a warehouse.”

Her expression melted back to professional neutrality. Sonia leaned back into her seat and returned to her notes without response. “I don’t have any interest in warehouses, Mr. Lawal.”

Adi’s heart sank into his stomach.

“But I know someone who does.” She kicked the front seat. “Eyes on the road. Pretoria.” Sonia turned back to Adi. “Hell of a pitch. Hope you can pull it off twice.”

If he looked closely enough, he swore he could see amusement in her eyes.

Monday, June 11, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Tracen stood looking at the set-up in front of him thoughtfully. He was considering how things were and whether a change had been necessary. In the end, he decided that yes, he did deserve the new chair.

He stepped forward, cup of coffee in hand and took his seat. It felt different, but not in a bad way. He took a sip as he spread his notes out then placed the cup down on the desk. It had been an interesting day, to say the least. He was pleased with that. It was exactly what they wanted.

After a quick skim through his notes, and a small line alteration he was ready.

He pressed the button and the speakers hidden around the island burst to life for the first time. There would be many more times yet to come.

"Good morning everyone and welcome once again to Survival of the Fittest." He took another quick sip of coffee.

"I'm glad you all took our briefing to heart. We worked hard on it, so it's good to you see you all taking that inspiration."

"First up this morning, we have what could be a new speed record when Abel Zelenovic was beaten to death by Paloma Salt. Don't worry about it too much, most of you were still asleep."

"The next person to meet their end was Toby Underwood who got his head blown open by Tirzah Foss. There's an important lesson for you all there and it's trust no one."

Tracen paused to take another drink and idly spun the pen in his fingers.

"We continue with the first day craziness as Christine Bright was extinguished by Tyrell Lahti when he bit through her throat. Watch out for him kids. I think he might be rabid."

"In the first of what I'm sure will be many star-crossed lovers moments, Beryl Mahelona was reunited with Nick Ogilvie as he put a knife in her neck. It's sad, but this is what happens in this game."

A small grin played at Tracen's lips as he read the next pair of names.

"Felix Rees was the next one of your classmates to meet his end as busy boy Tyrell Lahti shot him in the chest and then double-tapped. I don't know if Felix was a zombie but either way he's not coming back from that."

"Meanwhile as that was happening we had an example of having a twitchy sword arm as Katrina Lavell tested her blade on Yuko Hayashibara."

"Next up there was some Quinn on Quinn violence as Quinn Abert stabbed Violet Quinn in the gut. A classic method of murder but people appreciate the hits."

"As if it wasn't already obvious to all of you, Dante Luciano Valerio found out the hard way that taking a nap on the island is a bad idea as Blaise d'Aramitz blew his head wide open. Presumably, there was nothing inside."

"Finally we finish with a bit of a health and safety PSA. Head injuries are very serious and can have unseen complications. If they aren't properly treated the results could be fatal. This lesson is brought to you by Benedict Murray who collapsed hours after Justin Greene cracked his skull with a tire iron."

Tracen tapped the pen against the desk and hummed gently over the microphone.

"I feel like I'm forgetting something...Oh right! As I mentioned when we first met there are danger zones you need to be aware of. Today's is The Waterfall! For those of you that can't remember, that means anyone in there will have their collars explode on them. You have ten minutes from the end of this announcement to leave, so don't waste time."

"And finally we were big fans of Blaise d'Aramitz and are pleased to announce them as the very first winner of the V7 Best Kill Award. Head to the Waterfall to collect your prize, consisting of a meal of pulled-pork sliders with coleslaw and a Coke, and of course a shiny new weapon."

The Second Announcement
Monday June 11, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 11 PM

The clock on the wall ticked in time to the beat of Jimmy Buffet’s “Cheeseburger in Paradise” playing through the small bluetooth speaker set on a battered filing cabinet. Just for a little bit, a small group of friends… acquaintances… …. Co-workers could enjoy some time to themselves in preparation for the days to follow. The hardest part was behind them all, but the most treacherous days could still be ahead of them if they slipped up. For those who were there ten years ago, they remembered the consequences, and they passed on the tales to those who weren’t.

A small circular table sat in an enclosed space that didn’t give much wiggle room for three of its sides. Maybe two-to-three steps to reach the two doors on either wall for the fourth. It was cramped, but it was all they had, the only space Greynolds could afford them when setting up their little game. A cooler sat underneath, giving birth to growing piles of discarded cans and bottles over time, with chips, crackers and snack cakes placed here and there.

“Alright, let’s get set up for game two,” said Dennis Lourvey. To his left, Josie Knight. To her left, Veronica Rai then, continuing around the table, Adimabua Lawal and finally Boris Petrikov, seated to Lourvey’s right. “Still Hold’em- Adi, hand me those chips? Count ‘em up, we should all have 20K. And Boris,” Lourvey pushed up his glasses and threw a glance to the sullen-looking man sitting beside him, “I swear to fuck, if you go all-in on the first round AGAIN we’re not inviting you back for our game nights, got it?”

Adimabua placed the chips in Lourvey’s hand as directed with a smile to Boris. Whether he took it anywhere from mocking to sympathetic was his decision; he was not certain how he meant it himself. Little was certain in the tense energy of a game in full swing. There was confidence, yes, the reassurance of a routine practiced for more than a decade by some of his compatriots. There was an air of unease around it though. For those who had served under Mr. Danya’s predecessor he assumed the fear of discovery played some role. Others, like Boris, had more personal discomforts. Only a portion could be attributed to the nature of their work. When Boris scanned across the collected $100,000 around the table with a flicker of hunger in his eyes Adi suspected it came from more than greed, but who could say? Still others were unreadable to him. If there was more beyond the surface to Rai, for instance, he was uncertain he wanted to find it.

Before he came aboard that was a rare feeling. The gossip of hidden motivation had been his favorite way to pass the time at work events before now. Even he was wrong, and in fairness he was often wrong, it was more engaging than most activities thrown together by committee. Where was the harm? In his old life he was harmless. The worst he could expect were harsh words. Adi did not play such games with the Taskforce. He was too fresh with tensions too high to expect unwelcome questions leading anywhere but an equally unwelcome departure. The words had not been used explicitly, but he considered himself in a probationary period where the threat of termination had taken a more literal meaning.

That did not require him to be unfriendly. The cards Lourvey dealt him tipped upwards at the edge of the table and he shook his head with a chuckle. “Fortune does not favor our corner,” he mused to Boris at his side. “I am reminded of a card game we played in university, Thuni. We played for money, or drinks, or,” a gesture with two fingers in front of his lips cut off the thought, finishing with a shrug. “As students do. There was also some undesirable task assigned to being the greatest loser. Does this game have similar penalties?”

Something like a smile crossed Rai’s face at the suggestion. Though Adi hadn’t been speaking directly to her, she responded from his other side. “Why not make some? Make things more interesting.” She nudged Josie under the table. “Worst loser can do Josie’s laundry.”

She wasn’t that good at poker - strategy had never been her forte, nor had discretion - but she was hanging in there. Doing better than Boris, at least. Guy went all in way too soon. Rai had just come to assume that Boris was at least tipsy at all times, and that assumption held now.

“What the fuck?” Josie said with a grin and laugh as she raised her beer to her lips. “If we’re talking when I get back from the island sure. That place is a sweaty hellhole.” Poker was a game she had acquired a lot of experience with over the course of her life hanging around in bars, and in a more important way she’d learned how to effectively cheat. Although the difficulty of cheating was raised when there was so many people at the table.

“And yeah Boris, we prefer taking our time and making Lourvery sweat it out over as long a time as possible.” The can she had been drinking from was discarded and another one retrieved. It had been fun, with the additional benefit of she was getting paid for it. Josie let the cards slide across the table to her and didn’t look at them before betting. “So what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?” She asked the gathering, grin still spread across her face.

“If I have to do your laundry that would quickly top the list, lemme tell ya,” Lourvey shot. He flinched when something furry and orange hopped up into his lap. “Damn it, George, can it wait!?” he asked the ornery old cat, who had decided Dennis’s lap was now the ideal napping spot.

“Better you than me,” Rai muttered. “I’m allergic.” Not completely untrue, but the reality was that she just wasn’t much of an animal person, either in the way that people usually meant it or in the Josie way that meant she liked to hang them on her wall. The time she spent petting the forlorn seeing-eye dog until he stopped being so damn pitiful at being taken away from his person didn’t count.

Boris interrupted the proceedings by shoveling his chips to the center of the table.

“All in,” he slurred, getting a collective groan in response. Lourvey slammed his can of Red Bull on the table, while the old tabby in his lap was too grizzled and stubborn to care.

“God dammit Boris, go to bed. You’re drunk,” Rai grumbled.

Tuesday, June 12, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Another day down and more deaths had appeared on his list. Including some that had been missed from the first day. Tracen wasn't sure how things like that kept happening even after all the years they had been running things but he had just accepted it as part of the setup. Ironically, he was always drawn to how unprofessional it made them seem, as if anyone who would be watching the feeds or the students themselves cared about something like that. It was a strange and ridiculous ouroboros of how they viewed themselves. One of the first things he had learned from Greynolds and the old tapes of his father was that presentation was everything and missing deaths ruined their presentation. It was a small detail that maybe only he cared about, but letting small details go unaddressed was what had led to his fathers' death in the first place.

So when Tracen had been passed the list he had glared at it for a long while. Then eventually he had managed an 'alright'. As he sat there watching the clock tick ever closer to nine his annoyance ebbed and flowed. It would be fine. He could deal with it after. His pen tapped against the desk as the time ticked over. Then he pressed the button.

"Goooood morning students! We are back once again to give you a rundown of how the game and is going and I have to say you certainly have packed a lot of drama into twenty-four hours so thank you for that."

"First up, we begin with a set of interesting events that transpired in the early hours of the morning. During the course of an argument, Mikki Swift ended up shooting Phillip Olivares and Terra Johnson but in the process Terra managed to shoot her as well. Then just when you thought it was all over Zachary Beck managed to stab an injured Bree Jones, and she nearly made it as well. These things happen I suppose."

Tracen clapped his hands together.

"Right. Try not to cut things so close to the announcement in the future, kids. It messes with our bookkeeping, and we know that none of you want to be forgotten.

"We begin the day proper with a more lowkey death as Sapphire Waters bled to death following an altercation with Lorenzo Tavares. It was so lowkey that it wasn't even noticed that she'd died because of our previous announcement. Imagine having your death upstaged by a disembodied voice."

"Next up white knight to be Danny Chamnanma fell, literally and figuratively to Quinn Abert who notches up her second kill after stabbing Danny and then using him as a crash mat. Points for style."

Tracen read the next name on his list and the description of their death and gave an exaggerated sigh.

"So, it appears that a group of you don't understand health and safety and managed to emulate a set of dominoes, leading to Cammy Walker-Grimsleyto fall off the Nature's Lookout platform. Since this was a Rube Goldberg machine of stupidity no one gets credit. Oh also, if you thought you heard someone calling for help in the wilds, don't worry, you did."

"Compared to that our next kill is elegantly simple. Kyle Harrison was shot by an angel...did I say angel, sorry, I meant Violet Schmidt. I hear those two get confused a lot."

"Ron Kiser didn't watch his back and ended up with a bullet in it courtesy of Tirzah Foss. Hats off to Miss Foss, she's a real go-getter."

"Another death by gunshot as Desiree Beck had her mind, and head blown courtesy of Erika Stieglitz who went long with the shot. It was quite impressive."

Tracen tapped the pen on his desk again as his eyes scanned the rest of the list.

"It appears that the horror movie prop we put on the island with you got put to its proper use as Nona Hart or Marco Hart now whatever you prefer, it's not like we care. The important part is they put the insides of Kayla Harris on the outside."

"As we continued on with the day we had a battle between two heavyweights as Jeremiah Anderson was bested by Nick Ogilvie, who continued showing his hated of throats. Protect your necks around that guy.

"Kelly Nguyen got a mercy kill... oh no wait, she killed Mercy Ames. Best make sure you check your food and drink if someone else has handled it before you; you never know what might end up in there.

"Then there was a tale as old as time. Friend finds friend, friend approaches friend, friend gets shot. This happened to Regina Petrov and Caroline Ford when Caroline shot Regina and then decided to vandalize one of our cameras, so we followed through with our warning and blew her head off. Do not mess with our cameras."

Tracen let some menace seep in as he finished off the list before perking back up again.

"Anyway! As our time together this morning comes to an end I must remind you that in good news you are free to go to The Waterfall but in bad news The Menagerie is now off-limits. If you stick around or wander into there, you're going to find out just how effective our collars are."

"And the final thing on our itinerary is to offer congratulations to Violet Schmidt. We thought you did the best job of eliminating the competition today and as such you are the winner of today's BKA!"

Tracen gave a small burst of applause.

"Your prize of blackened chicken with garlic mashed potatoes and seasoned green beans, and a new weapon, can be found in The Menagerie, specifically The Aviary. We hope you like it."

The Third Announcement
Tuesday June 12, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 12:30 PM

1x KitchenAid Artisan Series 5 Quart Tilt-Head Stand Mixer, Aqua Sky

1x Sifter/Scale Attachment

1x Fresh Prep Slicer/Shredder Attachment

1x Five Piece Pasta Roller

1x Metal Meat Grinder Attachment

1x Spiralizer Peel, Core, And Slice Attachment

1x 7 Blade Spiralizer Plus Peel, Core, and Slice Attachment

Adi’s finger stopped at that line. The dull throb of his hangover forced him to re-read several times, just to be certain he was not missing something. Satisfied with the accuracy of his dissatisfaction,his eyes raised from the page to peek over the half-ovals of his glasses. “This pair, this I am not understanding. Are these not the same item?”

The man across the table gave away nothing. Tan, wrinkled skin denoting he was even Adi’s elder, eyes like dulled emeralds squinting with what could be read as the mildest incredulity, broad mouth hanging agape enough to show crooked teeth going yellow in contrast to his stark, shining white comb-over. His first response was to tilt his head to the left and blink, as if waiting for realization to sink in. When it did not he leaned forward, the creak of his chair making Adi wince. “Nope,” his finger tapping the page, “One’s seven blades. Says so right there, sir.”

It was Adi’s turn to stare and wait. He did not know much of Franklin Libby beyond his place of respect in the kitchen, but that alone made the situation...delicate. The man held no official authority of him, the other way around as it were given the nature of this meeting, but there are universal rules to consider. There were people you did not irritate no matter how much power you held over them, and one of the foremost groups in Adi’s opinion were those that made your meals. Adi tapped the page in return and nodded. “I see now. Thank you. But...educate me, please. Is the first, how do you say, Spiralizer? Is it necessary? They are, as I understand it, single blades with different functions, so the seven would encompass their functions as well, yes?”

Eyebrows knitted together and drifted apart with a shake of his head. Signs that he might have been caught in something began to appear, a twitch at the corner of his mouth, eyes downcast...no, after last night Adi was not so confident he could read a poker face. “Ayuh, I’ll check but that sounds right.”

“A moment then.” Adi returned to the text below the cross-out. An array of extra attachments blurred together between other appliances. Something called a turbo blender, sous vide this and wood fire that, pans and pots and dishes of dozens of specification. Stress pounded below his temples. He had not put himself together well enough to have explored every item, it seemed unimportant beside his typical workload. So here he was, a few sheets of paper and a humble chef forming the most intimidating experience he had been through since an unassuming black Acura pulled into his parking garage.

He sighed. Set the papers down, pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose. The specifics could be damned. They were here to discuss the bottom line, he could not be faulted for that. “Mr. Libby,” he began cautiously, “I am not so experienced in all of this as you are, but even I can see there is certain...mmm, fat to be trimmed from these requests. Is this the most conservative list the kitchen staff can manage?”

Frank was smiling before he finished. “Now sir, I do understand that. I’ll confess I’m not so, like you say, experienced with what goes on outside myself. Seeing what all goes into keeping the ship right, hoo,” he punctuated with raised fists to his temples, fading out with splayed fingers in what Adi imagined was meant to mimic an explosion. “Beyond me, ayuh. We do watch though, down in the kitchen. Don’t know much about big money. Maybe we know our way around a gun or two, most of us, but nailing a sticker price on what you hand out to them kids? Not a clue, not a clue.” Frank went silent, his tongue bulging in his cheek with his eyes cast side-ways. “But you don’t need no expertise to see you folks strapped some gal with a thousand dollars for God knows what reason, and if you’re ready to throw away that kinda money, well, we figure might as well try to get some thrown at us.”

He laughed, and Adi found himself joining in. Low, restrained, but laughter all the same. Too surreal to avoid. “Your point is clear, Mr. Libby.” Their hands meet half-way across the desk. “I cannot say how sympathetic other ears will be but you have mine. I will put in a good word.”

Wednesday, June 13, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Tracen was pleased as he sat down. All the ingredients they looked for to push everyone into a paranoid fight for survival were starting to fall into place. They had a handful of kids who were killing consistently while new ones were joining their ranks at a good pace. The idea of announcing exactly what meal the winner of the best kill award would receive had been an inspired move to try and spur some more jealously and action. He was confident the paranoia would truly start setting in now. If you heard footsteps in the night would you be able to trust them? It could have been one of the killers with large body count or someone who intended to kill you as soon as you dropped your guard. They were already observing groups fall apart or suffer from in-fighting. The fractures were beginning to show on everyone and everything was moving along nicely.

"Welcome to hump day kids! How are we all doing on this fine damp morning? I'm happy to report that you're continuing to keep the pace up. If anything you all only needed a small push. It's remarkable how quickly it's all happened if I'm honest with you."

Tracen clapped his hands together.

"But anyway let's get a move on, I'm sure you're all itching to hear what happened yesterday after all."

"We begin with a classic danger zone kill as Clayton Barber took a tumble in the stables and got put down by his collar."

"After that Reuben Walters had a disagreement with Teresa Rojas that was resolved when he got a knife in the gut, which is a perfect example of the dangers of modern life. You never know who's carrying a weapon."

"That was followed up by a teamkill of a fashion as Quinn Abert showed Rhonda Lawson the dangers of her mistake."

Tracen grimaced. That one was a particularly poor effort.

"Camila Cañizares was the next to go when Michael Froese shot her. In our opinion, it was simple and effective work."

"The next kill is interesting, and I'll need to consult with our stats team, but I think this means we have a new record for poisoning kills. As you may have guessed, Blake Davis died after being poisoned by Erika Stieglitz."

Tracen made a show of turning a piece of paper so that the sound could be picked up on the speakers.

"If you thought things were good before it really picks up here."

"Firstly Quinn Abert made her fourth kill when she sniped Ned Jackson."

"This was followed by Dolores Upton getting her skull shot open by Blaise d'Aramitz, who didn't stop there. Not long after killing Dolores, Blaise came across Alexander Brooke and suffice to say he didn't see it coming."

"The chaos in the village continued when Cheridene Williams took a tumble down the well. Unfortunately, Lassie was not around to go and get her help."

"Things didn't slow down any when Layla DeBerg had her brains scattered over a wide radius by Violet Schmidt's bullet as she reappears on our announcements."

"Emil Van Zandt III was the next person to meet his end as Lorenzo Tavares bashed his head, not once, not twice, but thrice and some extra hits for good measure."

"In a very elaborate piece of work, Marco Volker pushed Arjen Kramer off the cliffs, causing him to drown."

"Quinn Abert makes yet another appearance on our morning broadcast today as this time it was Stepney Cruz and his organs who were the unlucky victims of her run of form."

"In a bit of an emotional drama, Tristan O'Hara was stabbed by Adonis Cohen. Great performance from all involved, very touching."

"And finally, Claudeson Bademosi and Bryan Merryweather had a philosophical discussion, and it seems that Claudeson talked Bryan to death. The bullet to the head probably helped too, though."

"We finish things up today with an important danger zone announcement. To prevent any accidents we're going to make The Cliffs off-limits for the day. It's very windy out there and we don't want anyone taking an unnecessary tumble."

"The only people who get to risk it are our Best Kill Award winners - that's right, winners plural. We just couldn't decide between Erika Stieglitz and Michael Froese's work yesterday. There will be a plate of pork and vegetable dumplings, fried rice, and a Coke for both of you in The Temple, but you'll have to decide between yourselves who gets the weapon."

"That's all for today, kids. Take care of yourselves and each other out there; you know what I mean. See you tomorrow."

The Fourth Announcement
Wednesday, June 13, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 11:40 PM

The usual faces, the usual suspects and the usual pleasantries surrounded Trent Camden’s desk. These were the quiet times, oddly enough, once the game had gotten underway. Days of endless cataloguing and procuring drugs from odd ends of the globe and then scrubbing traces of their destination or origin was a lot of pencil pushing, but a surprising amount of work and cause for stress. A bit of carelessness on an invoice or a shipment could mean having it all traced back to the AT or, more importantly, back to one Dr. Trent Camden.

So, it was nice to have that stress out of the way, and it only had to come at the price of receiving visits from people asking for god knows what or complaining about some ailment - Donald had been complaining about stomach pains from day one. Most of the complaints, Trent handled them with the same catch-all solution of sending them to Dr. Kelley, or somebody who gave a shit and had the correct job description to do something about it. Trent was really only sure about one of those, but that too was not his problem.

But now, so late at night it was practically the asscrack between night four and day five, the pharmaceutical desk was greeted with a familiar face and Trent shouldn’t have been surprised. “The headaches again, Dennis?”

Lourvey nodded both his greeting and response all rolled into one as he slumped up to the desk, sweeping his rimless glasses off his face and setting them on his desk. Trent watched in silence, disinterestedly flipping some papers and pulling a tan lockbox out from under the ledge of his desk, as the techie wrung his face in his hands.

“Migraines, and yeah. I’m hoping, like… you got something stronger than Advil?” Lourvey pulled his hands away from his face. The circles under his eyes told Trent everything he needed to know about the man’s condition.

“They’re coming earlier this time. I’ve been telling you to lay off the energy drinks, the caffeine and whatever else is in that shit- taurine? Guarine? It’s stringing you out. Do you even know what a headache is?” Trent turned in his chair, grabbing a bottle, checking the label, putting it back. He repeated the process a few times. Dennis didn’t seem to have an answer for that, so he continued. “The blood vessels in your brain are constricting because you’re dehydrating yourself for one reason or another. But they’ve got a really cool drug for that, you ready? It’s called: Water. Try drinking water for a change.”

“You’re being a dick right now. I mean, more than usual,” Lourvey tacked on, pressing an elbow into the desk and leaning over it. “So it sounds like maybe we’re both being stressed out by this shit. Can I just have the pills? If you had to run 18 hour shifts staring at screens and handling some of the dipshits they have me operating with, you’d amp yourself up too.”

Trent raised his hands to his shoulders but continued to scan the lines of bottles. Vicodin… it would do the trick, but it was like swatting a fly with a sledgehammer. Plus, there were too many dependency risks. He clicked his tongue and reached for his final decision. “I’m just worried about you ruining your liver. I know, my mistake for giving a damn. But here you go.” Trent turned around and set the bottle of Ibuprofen between them.

Dennis stared at it and looked back up to Trent with an eyebrow raised. “I said stronger than Advil.”

“It’s the same concentration they use in Midol,” Trent responded flatly. “At least give it a try, and if it doesn’t do the trick I can try to step up to something stronger.” Dennis shook his head but reached for the bottle, only for Trent to pull it back in the face of further confusion. “Cash,” the pharmacist insisted.

“What the hell?” Lourvey half-reached for the bottle again but when it was clear Trent wasn’t about to give it up, he quickly weighed his options of just snatching it versus catching a black eye and decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. “It normally just comes out of our pay or some shit, doesn’t it? Or like, don’t we budget for this? I never had to give…”

“There’s a problem with the system right now, so I won’t be able to track it.” Trent had a firm grip on the bottle and held out a hand expectantly. “Look, if there’s a problem, you can take it up with Tracen or something, but that’s just the way it is right now.”

Dennis glowered, but his shoulders slumped in defeat with little alternative available to him. If anything, this whole ordeal was just making his headache worse. And bringing it to Tracen… yeah, that wasn’t an option either. That guy had enough on his plate trying to run the main event. And he’d rather quit Red Bull cold turkey than bring it to Greynolds. “How much?” he finally said, quietly.

“Twenty five.”

“Fucking highway robbery…” Lourvey muttered, but forked over the twenties. Trent put one in the tan lockbox and slipped the other in a drawer, handing his co-worker back three fives. Lourvey turned to leave, but before he could go too far, Trent called back to him.

“Some free advice, since Kelley would just tell you the same thing: at least cut back on the drinks a little. Alternate between that and electrolytes. I’ve got some Pedialyte in the cooler, and that’d probably help too.” Dennis paused, seemed to actually listen, and gave a little bit of a wave before turning around the corner to return to his station.

Trent waved back, put the cash box away and checked the drawer.

Thursday, June 14, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

He had been right with his prediction. They had more deaths on his list than they had the previous few days. It wouldn't last, he knew that much, but even so, if it looked like more and more of their classmates were giving in and willing to play the knock-on effect would be considerable. It was like dominoes really. Once one started to fall it didn't take long for the rest to fall with them and he got to give them another push. He got to give them a push each morning in fact. Every time he turned the speakers on he had the chance to push another one of the children to violence. He was well aware of that fact, and he played up to it. He grinned to himself as once again he pressed the button. It was time to give another person the push they needed.

"Another wonderful morning to you kids. Here's something to cheer you up if you feel a little a down. Just remember that you have managed to survive yet another day while others have failed. You have made it one step closer to victory and the chance to go home; in fact, if you're hearing me now, you've lasted more than one-third of the way through. The thought of that should perk you up, but anyway we should kick things off."

Tracen loudly cracked his fingers as he started to read the names.

"We begin with Ashlynn Martinek who said the wrong thing to Julien Leblanc, who retaliated by shutting her up for good. You'd have thought people would have learned to be careful with their words by now.

"Keeping the deaths via blade going Mackenzie Baker had her throat cut by Justin Greene who, after a day off, makes his return to these announcements. It's good to have you back, Justin.

"Speaking of returns, how about someone who never left? That's right, it's Quinn Abert! This time she mixed things up and bludgeoned Liberty Wren to death.

"Next, we had some sibling-on-sibling violence as Ramsey Cortez was strangled by Angie Cortez. You hate to see it."

Tracen gave a small shake of the head, more for his own benefit than anything else.

"In a simpler, but no less dramatic, death, William Dover met his end when Nia Karahalios wasn't in the mood to talk and let her gun take over negotiations.

Tracen read the next set of names and whistled.

"Man, you guys were trigger happy today. After a scuffle, Joanne Coleman was shot by Blaise d'Aramitz. We respect the effort, but you need to make sure the barrel is pointing away from you.

"Then, keeping the trend going, Erika Stieglitz notched up a double kill when she sniped both Katie Agustien and Saffron Fields. They died holding hands though, which was cute.

"After that, there was another death where body met bullets, as Brandon Murphy was shot by Zachary Beck, whom you may remember from a couple of days back.

"Just to shake things up, Jessica Rennes was next to go, opting out of the game by jumping off the cliffs - and after we closed them for safety reasons too.

"Luckily Erika Stieglitz gets us back on track for gun violence and continued her rampage down at the beach, where she shot Oliver Lacroix. Sadly too much time had passed for it to count as a triple. She then capped things off by putting a bullet in Tom Swift's head. Quite the busy day for Ms. Stieglitz.

"Not to be outdone, or alternatively, wanting to join in, Quinn Abert notched up a second kill. This time it was Richard Smith via gun. It's nice to see some of you really branching out and finding yourselves."

Tracen let out a dramatic sigh as he got to the end of the list.

"And after all that we end today with a couple more eclectic methods. First Ariana Moretti, who died from wounds inflicted on her by Marco Volker, which sounds boring until you realize he used a chainsaw. Then to finish us off, Lucas Brady rammed a branch into Coriander Silverman. Points for improvisation, if not for style.

"That was certainly something huh? You were all very busy yesterday. Some of you more than others granted, but still, I'm impressed. Anyway, we still have the usual admin to get through so since closing the cliffs clearly didn't work we'd like to announce that if you planned on paying a visit to the Bay Area you might want to cancel that as it's becoming off-limits. If you're there...better get your asses in gear and get out.

Finally, we finish off as always by announcing with one of you impressed us enough with your murder skills to be rewarded with a prize, and today that is Nia Karahalios! Congratulations, your prize of a chicken salad sandwich, a side of fresh fruit, and a sparkling water can be found on the pier, along with a new weapon of course.

That's all from me this morning kids, remember, you're one day closer to going home. Don't let anyone take that chance from you."

The Fifth Announcement
Friday, June 15, 2018: INTERPOL Liaison Office, Bangkok, Thailand

From: INTERPOL General Secretariat To: Rhea Pillman Subject: FW: To Whom It May Concern

Dear INTERPOL,

I am writing to you with information regarding several of the red notices you have recently made publically available on your website along with others I am sure you are currently gathering evidence for and an INTERPOL-United Nations Security Council Special Notice that I also believe you to be working on.

The red notices I am specifically referring to are regarding the terrorist organization known as the Arthro Taskforce who are responsible for seven iterations of terrorist actions known as "Survival of the Fittest", with an eighth being planned. I am not sure how far into your investigation you are or how much evidence you have gathered currently but I assume you are either unaware that the seventh version is currently active or unable to prevent it from happening. I feel safe in this assumption as the seventh iteration has now been occurring for six days now without any attempted outside disruptions.

I am aware that you have probably received many communications such as this one from people claiming to have knowledge of the Arthro Taskforce and how it operates. In an effort to convince you that I am in fact the real deal so to speak allow me to divulge some information about the kidnapping of the senior class of George Hunter High. In total one-hundred and fifty-nine students were taken on their way back from a trip to Washington D.C. after the original bus they had been traveling on broke down and they were transferred to a replacement one, this happened at 2am. After the students were gassed they were taken to Roanoke, Virginia to be transferred.

Both of these buses were being driven by members of our organization and the operation was planned and carried out by Steven Wilson on the orders of Jim Greynolds and Tracen Danya. The driver of the bus was a woman who had been present since the start of the trip. She is also a member of the Arthro Taskforce by the name of Josie Knight—based on the notices posted on your website you do not appear to have anything on her—the person who delivered the second bus was Shamino Warhen.

I know that there is a chance you may still doubt the information I am providing you but I would like to state that currently, sixty-eight of the one-hundred and fifty-nine students who started the game have already perished. Time is of the essence if you want to save them.

If you want more details, please do not hesitate to contact me. I only ask for immunity from any potential charges that could be brought against me.

Warmest regards, Art

Friday, June 15, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Another day had passed and Tracen found himself thinking about how well everything was going. The organization had become a well-oiled machine in the time he had been involved. Between him and Greynolds they had removed many problematic elements and issues from the design of the game. The end result was easy to see before him: an island full of teens fighting to the death with their government unable to prevent it or help them until it was far too late. They had everyone's attention, even now, as he sat and took a sip from his coffee he was sure those left back in America felt that feeling of powerlessness and hopelessness. He grinned as he had the thought, the class they had taken also appeared eager to show their dark side. Whoever had monitored them and put them forward to participate needed a raise.

He gave his notes one last skim read and when he was satisfied he turned the speakers on.

"Alright, we start today with two people who decided to try and test out our danger zones to make sure they still work. Good news! They do! Bad news! Nikki Nelson-Kelly and Gervais Frans Lambotte are dead. Although if your aim is to win and go home that's not really bad news at all.

"In our first real kill of the day, Madison Springer took the bullet for all of you and caved in Nathan Coleman's skull. Which I'm sure you're all secretly grateful for, so thank her next time you see her.

"Not long after that Meilin Zhou became the latest victim of Quinn Abert who's on what? Eight or nine now? I'm losing count.

"Then Claudeson Bademosi made sure Bret Carter got his point when he shot him in the neck with a crossbow. Which do you think he counts as, Claude? Cain or Abel?

"Dane Lennox was the next of you to become a victim when Lorenzo Tavares blew his mind with a headshot.

"This was quickly followed by Diego Larrosa going digging for treasure in the neck of Mike Brown. We're not sure if he found anything special besides this kill.

"Drew Woods was the next to go when Declyn Grayson-Anthis shot him. Simple, effective and some good enough first steps on the path to victory.

"Next up, Tennessee chainsaw massacre continued with Marco Volker decapitating Colin McCabe. Have fun dealing with that one.

"A while later, Erika Stieglitz went on another killing spree, this time taking out Yuki Hayashibara, Sal Bonaventura, and Demetri Futscher in quick succession. Oh, and she snatched the title of the killer with the biggest bodycount to their name with that little display, too. Fine work."

He lightened his tone just a bit so that listeners might guess that he was smiling.

"After his promising show yesterday, Lucas Brady sadly decided to throw in the towel and bashed his head against a rock. At least it was a suicide and not yet another one of you tripping over their own two feet. Fortunately, we closed things off with someone else showing a little more dedication, as Nia Karahalios blew Aoi Mishima away after a fairly one-sided conversation."

Tracen slid the list to one side of his desk and looked at the map of the island they had prepared earlier. Locations crossed out and circled with sharpie.

"So as you all stew over what to do about the maniacs running around with chainsaws and such, let me tell you where you won't be able to hide. If you are in The Lower Wilds we suggest making your way elsewhere, for health and safety purposes."

He dropped his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.

"Between you and me, the goats are getting territorial.

"And we'll end off today with a feel-good announcement as Madison Springer has won the prize for being the best of killing for today! Congratulations! Your prize of a new weapon and a plate of beef and cheese enchiladas with Spanish rice and refried beans can be found in the Lower Wilderness!

"That's all from me today kids, have fun out there and remember, only one of you can go home."

The Sixth Announcement
Friday June 15, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 11:22 PM

No matter the business or the location or the culture surrounding it there were a few sacred cows in any working environment. Very few stood with more import than the breakroom and no matter the business or the location or the culture surrounding it: all breakrooms were pretty much the same. Some were more fancy or less fancy or had more or had less—but be honest, if you had seen one, you had seen them all. At the end of the day, pretty much the same.

The large coffee machine, the fluorescent lights, the fridge in need of cleaning and filled with various meals religiously and futilely labeled. Well, maybe not futilely, only a monster would steal a colleague’s lunch or soda. Especially with their name plastered on it. Especially in a high stress environment like this.

But no matter the environment or the business or the location or the culture surrounding it, you were bound to run into a few monsters. That’s just working life.

“You going to have some coffee with that sugar Don?”

Speaking of which.

Donald fumbled with the sugar container and more of the white grains poured into the coffee, a comedic amount. Greynolds responded like he often did to anything and nothing in particular: with a quiet chuckle and that smile. Everybody knew which one. There were few people who could claim to really know Jim Greynolds but Donald hadn’t needed to be told to avoid him. Even he was smart enough to follow everybody else’s lead.

“Uh…sorry sir!”, he sputtered “That’s, um, how I like it…?”

Greynolds sighed and adjusted his wire framed glasses and flicked his ponytail over his shoulder. He was an older guy and it took a special sort of guy to wear a ponytail past a certain age. What image was Greynolds going for? It was like the guy wanted to be equal parts casual and off-putting.

“Yeah, well, sugar ain’t gonna help you stay up young buck, just going to make you crash,” he responded casually, juggling a brown paper bag with a large glass bottle in it from one hand to another—even the intern could tell it was booze of some sort, “I worked behind a computer screen for a long time, seen a lot of good guys go nuts on the Red Bull and the Coca-Cola. You’re a young guy Don, no need to play with diabetes and the sugar shakes.”

“Uh...”

“Just advice, my gift to you.”

“Thanks…?”

“Well, you got anything for me?”

“What…?”

“A gift,” he said firmly, he wasn’t smiling, “you got one for me?”

“Uh…no, I don’t…I didn’t know…,” that wouldn’t be good enough, “I didn’t know that I was supposed to…?”

“Oh…,” Greynolds said with a degree of pity, “Don, of course you were supposed to. I’m one of your bosses and first impressions are important—even teachers get an apple! C’mon! You don’t even have something like that?”

He thought about saying that he thought a gift was supposed to be given without expectation of anything in return but he also figured debating with Greynolds wasn’t the smartest thing to do during his internship. Just apologize, it didn’t cost anything.

“Well, I’m sorry! Is there anything I could do?”

Donald was trying with all his might to keep his cool and not panic—this had to be a joke, right? Greynolds was a wild card, everybody knew it. He came from an old era, he had a different and looser style. He didn’t look like he was messing around though, he looked serious—deathly so. And considering the nature of this whole operation—was it inconceivable for him to really be chastised for such an arbitrary reason? And what were the real consequences of chastisement? What kind of kangaroo court would happen out here? Greynolds was from a different era and if the rumors of that era were true…

Donald didn’t want to find out if they were.

The older man took him in for a moment and then began talking, peaking over his wire framed lenses.

“Well…one thing…,” Donald didn’t like how Greynolds seemed ponderous, “I do have a favor and I need someone trustworthy to do it,” pensive, thoughtful, “Could you be that person Don? Are you trustworthy?”

Could he really say no?

“I…I guess?”

He supposed that was better than no.

“Good enough for me!”, Greynolds said smiling again before shoving the brown bag with the glass bottle into Donald’s chest with a force, “Guard this with your life and keep it chilled. I’m going to need it next weekend.”

Donald brought the bottle out and looked at it. Champagne—nice champagne, expensive champagne. Dom Pérignon. This come out the budget?

Greynolds smiled that smile. He left Donald and the coffee machine and made his way to the fridge. He opened it and pulled out a can of soda. It had a post-it with SHAMINO written on it in black sharpie.

He cracked it open and took a big sip of it before placing it back in the fridge open. Doomed to go flat. Donald was left sputtering as Greynolds made his way to the doorway before wagging his index finger warningly at the intern. Like something an angry housewife would do.

“Also snitches get stitches, I was never here, we never spoke and as a matter of fact, who are you again?”

“Uh…”

“Now you’re getting it Don,” he clapped his hands together “You can handle this right? Any questions?”

Donald asked before he could stop himself.

“Uh…what’s happening next weekend…?”

“A celebration,” and then he smiled again (did he ever stop?), that smile (of course it was), “So don’t let anyone touch my Dom, got it Don?”

Saturday, June 16, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Tracen glared at the first two names on the list he’d been given. He was aware of the situation and he knew that it had been contained. He was, however, still displeased that the attempt had even been made. He couldn’t say he was particularly surprised though, every version brought with it someone who believed they could outsmart the game. It always ended the same way, ever since he had taken over. With one final scan of his notes, Tracen was ready, he pressed the button and began the day.

“Good morning kids! I’ve got some great news for you to start us off today and it is that if you’re listening to this you have officially made it to the halfway point of our game, congratulations!”

Tracen gave a clap and whoop before taking a large gulp of coffee.

“Unfortunately we have to start today’s recap on a sour note as both Charelle Chernyshyova and Aditi Sharma died as a result of breaking our rules on fires. Charelle was taken care of by the fire itself while we dealt with Aditi. Take the lessons of this to heart, we are always watching and won’t be fooled by simple misdirection. Do not try anything like this if you want to go home.”

Tracen let a hardness and venom enter his voice as he finished. After a pause he continued in his regular tone, betraying no hint of the previous topic.

“Continuing on, Wyatt Carter met his demise at the barrel of Tirzah Foss’s gun and I don't think all the kings' horses or all the kings' men will be able to put him back together again.”

“Tanisha Abbey was the next to fall as Erika Stieglitz hit the big one-o, via you guessed it, bullets.”

“Again someone falls victim to the tyranny of bullets as Camille Bellegarde was shot by Valerija Bogdanovic. So watch out, there’s a new killer about.”

“The Chattanooga chainsaw massacre met its end as Marco Volker was shot by Henry Sparks. It was always going to happen eventually, especially when you bring a chainsaw to a gunfight.”

“There was a bit of a delay on our next kill as long after the initial attack Jackson Sullivan succumbed to wounds caused by Justin Greene. He has a knack for delayed murders, that boy.”

Tracen came to another death on his list with a note that an additional report was attached. He narrowed his eyes as he remembered.

“After that Adele Jones checked to see if the rule about messing with our cameras was still in effect. "

He paused for effect.

"Spoiler alert, it is.”

Tracen made a loud show of crumpling the paper with the details of Adele's actions up and throwing it away.

“Justin Greene, after getting that delayed kill, was more proactive with his maiming later on in the day as Nia Karahalios and Johnny Silva Ruiz both fell before his mighty smashing ability.”

“In a battle of killers, Tyrell Lahti came out on top and sent Lorenzo Tavares plummeting off the mansion balcony to his demise. Whether you like him or not you have to admit that boy knows how to kill in style.”

“We also have a rare joint kill today as Michael Froese shot Roxie Borowski right between the eyes while Yuka Hayashibara shanked her in the gut. It’s so rewarding to see people come out of their shells.”

“And as killers rise so to do they fall as Quinn Abert was stabbed to death by Arizona Butler, although based on her art projects we’re sure she would have appreciated how she was left.”

“Emeka Gibson had a bad trip, but don’t worry, Claudeson Bademosi was there to make sure he got the help he needed. You can't do drugs if you're dead, right?”

“Next up, we have a more subtle and quiet death for us to all contemplate as Sven Vee fell from the top of the waterfall like a dumbass.”

Tracen clapped loudly once before moving on.

"Then we end things off with a death right at the buzzer as Tony Acardi finally died from a wound inflicted on him by Paloma Salt days ago. Man, we were wondering what was taking him so long."

"But as I said at the beginning, the rest of you have all managed to get past the halfway point, what a remarkable achievement. To celebrate we’ve decided to move the danger zone up to the The Upper Wilds, it’s symbolism for your success."

"As always we have a prize to give out for the best murder and we have... another tie... yay. Tirzah Foss and Justin Greene both win the singular prize of a new weapon and a nice bowl of chili with cornbread, which can be found potentially waterlogged at the Rice Paddies!

"That's all from me today kids, keep up the good work and remember, you’re my favorite."

The Seventh Announcement
Saturday June 16, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 11:22 PM

Trent’s knuckles stopped before tapping on the door frame. He hadn’t expected Adimabua’s office to look this busy. There were boxes filled with hanging folders piled all around his desk, and the desk itself was buried under more open folders than he could count at a glance. They were spaced so that none covered another, presumably so he could read their contents without trying to restructure the whole layout over and over again. Adimabua wasn’t looking at any of them. His head was down staring at a single sheet of paper. The pencil in his right hand moved around the page but made no contact. By all appearances he had not noticed Trent’s arrival.

If he hadn’t had his questions directed to the man by name he wouldn’t know him. Hence the hesitance; there were enough volatile personalities in this operation that disrupting someone in the thick of it was liable to get something hurled at you. The pencil was the most threatening thing in his reach, though. Trent finished the motion and coughed for good measure. “Sorry to bother, but do you have a minute?”

His pencil slowed, then stilled. Adi set it down and adjusted his glasses. When he turned his attention to Trent his smile was tired. “Mr. Camden. Pardon me, I did not see you. Please come in.” He gestured to the chair across from his desk, but Trent shook his head. “I won’t be long, seems you’ve got quite a lot without me taking up your time!” Adi took the pencil back up and tapped its eraser against the desk.

“Are you familiar with my work?”

“No? Not more than the other bean counters that is, it’s not much my business now is it?” Speaking of his business it was too late to be on the run around, but curiosity got the better of him. “Why?”

Adi chuckled and circled something on the page. Now that Trent was closer it looked like a list of names. “Bean counting, yes, I would like to get back to that. My role is more to count the counting. Some of the numbers, they do not add up properly, and if I can see that…” He shrugged. “It is a problem.”

It was hard to say without looking closely, but Trent didn’t recognize any of the names. His knuckles rapped on the desk before going before brushing through his hair. He started walking to no place in particular, a sort of half lap that took him past piled up records and remnants of meals from...days? Weeks? He wasn’t paying close enough attention. “Can I ask how bad it is?” There was a chuckle behind him. He kept moving.

“For us? I cannot say. I am sure we have seen worse. Do not concern yourself.” Adi paused. His glasses folded in his hand to rest on top of the sheet. It was a heavy thing that he was being asked, not by Mr. Camden but by his duties. He had not allowed it to bow his head while the task was at hand but now that it was finished and could be shared with another perspective, mm. He pinched the bridge of his nose and shut his eyes. “Those who might expose us should not be so relaxed. I am...in this line of work, so to speak, because I risked exposure but was judged useful. Are these,” his fingers brushed along the page, “useful? I cannot say. But I expose them. I will not see them, but should they, mm.” Words needed to be chosen carefully. “Should I no longer see their name in our ledgers. I am responsible. Wouldn’t you say?”

There came no answer. Ah. Not careful enough. It was foolish to voice his, it was not accurate to call them concerns, more ethical curiosities. They could sound like dissent, though, like risk. There was no way of knowing that was not what this man had come to feel out. Look up and he would know, but he could not. Adi sat in darkness afraid of what he might see when he opened his eyes.

After some time, he coughed. “Mr. Camden?”

Nothing.

Minutes would pass before he settled back in his chair to an empty room. He had no way of knowing that as soon as he assured him it was not his problem, Trent Camden was out the door. Could you blame him? He was a pharmacist, not a therapist. His late reimbursements could wait for a less moody accountant at a more sensible hour.

Sunday, June 17, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Tracen strolled over this announcement desk with a smile fixed to his face. It had been a simple day, a normal day, after a few attempts at getting out of their situation it appeared that the students had finally settled down. At the very least, those that had been trying to escape had settled down following the failure of their peers, either way, it was reason to be in a good mood.

“Good morning all! I hope you are all enjoying yourselves now that you know you are all on the path that leads to the end of our game. There is a still a while yet, but I suggest keeping it in mind, just in case you need a morale boost in the coming days. In fact, speaking of boosts I have just the thing to perk you all up this morning. How about we run through those of you who passed on yesterday? Sound good?"

Tracen paused for added effect before finishing his statement.

"I thought so.”

A brief sound of shuffling papers signaled the beginning of the run down.

“We begin today with a quiet, mood piece as Catherine Zier died as a result of wounds inflicted by Michael Froese. It wasn't quick or clean, but the job got done and that's all we ask for at the end of the day.

“Our second kill today comes as Parker Green was caught off guard by Ace Ortega. It's unfortunate really but at the same time, it's good to see Ace make the best of the hand he's been given.

Tracen tutted as he read the next name on his list.

“I believe we warned you about head injuries kids, but despite our warnings Axel Fontaine succumbed to blunt force trauma inflicted by Lorenzo Tavares, notch one up for ghost Lorenzo, wooooo spooky.”

Tracen chuckled to himself and took a sip of coffee before he continued.

“Adonis Cohen was next up to meet his maker as he was shot by Emmett Bunnell. This was after Adonis had already mortally wounded Cecil Salazar-Loveless. I'm sure it was all very sad and emotional, but the important lesson here is to never trust anyone."

“Who's that familiar figure approaching over the horizon? Why it's Blaise d'Aramitz! And look there, they've killed Megan Summers! Please refer to what I have said about trust previously.”

Another gulp of coffee passed Tracen's lips as he read a bit ahead and made sure he was happy with his lines.

“Jeff Greene and Max Rudolph had a fight in the waterfall cave and both ended up dying when Max Rudolf detonated Jeff's collar and caught some of the shrapnel himself. Personally we were all rooting for one of them to...what's the word you kids say...yeet? Is it yeet? Anyway, we were hoping one of them would yeet the other off the waterfall itself but alas it was not to be.”

“Next up Amber Yates took two shots in the dome from Erika Stieglitz but trust us when we say she isn't getting up from the second one. Unless she's a hydra.”

“In our only double kill of the day Blaise d'Aramitz struck again and shot Billy Trevino after a brief scuffle. Good try Billy, but you just weren't good enough.”

“And finally, in yet another example of why you shouldn't trust anyone, Declyn Grayson-Anthis was shot by Myles Roux who then just watched him bleed out. Cold."

Tracen finished off his coffee and set the cup down with a cheerful exhale.

"Right, so, this is the part where I tell you what section of the island we've turned into a danger zone. But today there is a key change to how things work, danger zones are permanent from now on. That means if you go into any of the areas we say going forward, then boom, you're out. Since you may not have been expecting this and need a reminder of the previous one, The Upper Wilds are staying blocked off and we're adding The Menagerie. Don't expect us to give you reminders again, this is a one and done deal."

"And finishing off today we have the announcement of her best kill award. Thankfully it's not a tie this time, so congratulations to Arizona Butler! Your prize of a new weapon and chicken and waffles, with syrup and a pitcher of grape flavor-aid can be found in the Menagerie itself!"

"With that done I am afraid I must bid you adieu for another day kids. I know you love hearing from me, but I promise we'll be able to talk again tomorrow, bye!"

And with that Tracen clicked off the speakers.

The Eighth Announcement
Saturday, June 16, 2018: INTERPOL Liaison Office, Bangkok, Thailand

"I can't stress enough how important it is that you attempt to trace that email. Yes, yes, I know it went through multiple proxies...look I get it. No. I don't care-Hey look, there's hundreds of lives at stake here! Just try and trace the email!" Rhea threw the phone down. "You fuck."

After roughly ten seconds her phone rang again.

"Hello, this is special agent Rhea Pillman. Uh-huh, yes, that's right Roanoke. I need all CCTV that has a view of the streets...yes I know it's a lot of cameras and footage. It's an international terrorism incident. Yeah, exactly. Alright, it's a bus coming in from Washington D.C., start at two in the morning. Your best off starting with anything that has a view of the 581, 460 and 11. Alright, yeah. Thanks, that's great. Keep me updated if anything turns up."

With a sigh, she leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling.

Ever since the email had come in things had been crazy, in a good way of course. She wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. One of the Arthro Taskforce had sent them a tip-off with some details about an ongoing version of Survival of the Fittest. It was the biggest break they had ever received on the case and she was attempting to pursue every angle to get something out of it. She had already ruled out Art as a name, it didn't match with anyone they knew of within the organization and it was easily derived from the organizations' name itself.

The other details were all easy to verify as being legitimate, the exact times and method of the kidnapping were being kept away from the press and details about members of the group were even more limited. Josie Knight was a name that new even to Rhea. She'd spent a good portion of Friday night putting in requests for everything she could find about the woman and had come up with a depressingly light file. A former hunter from Alaska who had been caught for poaching and given a lifetime ban, some drunken conduct and the accidental death of her father when she was young. She had gone missing in 2014, not long after her ban. From the report, her apartment had been cleaned out of her personal possessions and clothes so the investigators had assumed she had skipped town.

Rhea looked back down at her desk and at the three photos of an above-average height brown-haired woman. One of them was Josie's mugshot, the second security footage from her court hearing, while the third and final image was of the bus driver for the George Hunter High School Trip. It was a close enough match, she was sure it was the same woman as the one in the first two pictures. It was enough to verify Art's legitimacy to her but she was still trying to see if they could trace the email back to its source somehow, it would have cut out a lot of hassle for everyone. Unfortunately, she was being allowed an easy shortcut.

She stacked all her paperwork on Josie Knight and Shamino Warhen back into their folders and put them to one side. Then with a sigh she popped her earbuds in and started to compose a reply.

Monday, June 18, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

As far as Tracen was concerned everything was turning out wonderfully. Sure, there were rumors of some sort of irregularity within their systems but that was in hand, and besides, everything on the island was humming along nicely. Students were killing, dying, vowing revenge and shedding tears over lost friends. Just like all the classes before them and many more in the future would. Between Greynolds and himself, they had fine-tuned the ship his father had captained reliably but erratically into a sleek and elegant machine. If Tracen was to look at things from the perspective of an objective observer he could make a case for the whole show nearly being able to run itself. But those were idle thoughts, for the time being he had a morning briefing to give to their current class. So he took his seat and cleared his throat before turning the microphone on.

“It's the beginning of a new week everyone! Unless you're one of those weird people that start their weeks with Sunday. But regardless, it is once again time for you to sit and listen to find out who you will never see again and who you need to watch out for. Not that this is mandatory. In fact, you could not listen, but that tends to be inadvisable."

Tracen paused and took a loud gulp of coffee followed by a satisfied sigh.

"Alright, let's get to it. We're starting off today with a couple of familiar faces, first up, Erika Stieglitz made sure Tonya Collins didn't have to wake up when she shot her in her sleep.

"Then Justin Greene shot Aliya Kimia Nemati after a brief chase. Probably a good thing too, our boy was looking tired.

"Lizzie Lebowski was next to go by selfishly taking her own life and preventing someone from getting a valuable kill, for shame."

Tracen gave a loud tut and shake of his head before continuing.

"I scream, you scream, we all scream for Ivy Langley stabbing Tirzah Foss in the eyes after a hell of fight. You'd have to see it to believe it."

He chuckled at his own awful joke, he knew it was terrible but he'd really wanted to include it. Luckily, he was the one who got to make those decisions.

"In a more quiet bit of murder, Theo Walterson was killed when Camilla Bell strangled the life out of him like a nasty weed."

Tracen pulled a face and scribbled a note next to the joke before continuing.

“Sorry about that brief delay. Anyway, where were we? Ah, yes! Blaise d'Aramitz had a lot of fun at Julien Leblanc's expense. Unfortunately, Julien forgot the safeword and that was the end of that.

"Next up we have perhaps our stinkiest death ever as Justin Greene beat Sean Leibowitz to death with a durian, and we thought giving someone that would be a lighthearted jape.

"After that, Lucas Diaz was shot by Erika Stieglitz after he took his eyes off the prize, which is a rookie mistake if we're being honest.

"And Jonah Heartgrave also got shot. The culprit this time was Michael Froese, who adds yet another mark to his tally.

"And finally, Willow O'Neal joined our new killers yesterday after she dug around in Sierra Cook's guts until Sierra expired. Interpret that however you want."

Tracen cleared his throat.

"I hope you remember what I said yesterday about danger zones because we're adding another one to the list today. The latest location that will make your collars become lethal is the Bay Area. The others are all staying blocked, so if you can't remember them then,"

Tracen shrugged.

"That's on you.

"Now we move onto what I'm sure is at least one person's favorite part of the day, and that is finding out who won our best prize award, yay!"

Tracen gave a small burst of applause.

"And today that is Camilla Bell, congratulations. Your meal of three mini lobster rolls, a bowl of potato salad and two liters of coke can be found in The Ruined Lighthouse. Be careful though, it's a little corpsey in there.

That's all from me today, I'll be back tomorrow morning to continue giving you updates so until then I want everyone to keep doing what they do best, bye now."

And with that Tracen clicked off the speakers.

The Ninth Announcement
Tuesday, June 19, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 8 AM

The goat grazing by the water’s edge looked up just as Josie released the arrow. It sailed through the air before landing in the animal’s neck. It staggered a few steps before collapsing, Josie slung her bow over her shoulder and casually strolled over to the downed beast putting a foot on its neck. She shushed its dying pants and pulled her radio out:

“Yeah put me down for that weird French kid and tell Lourvey I can go get some of his bae’s hair if he wants.”

“You’re going to have to be more specific about which weird French kid,” Rai deadpanned into her own radio, slouching in her chair back in the cafeteria. She was pretty sure she knew which one, actually, if only because all of the others were dead now. Still, she wasn’t about to have Josie up her ass later because she made some kind of clerical error.

Stockton - or Domino, as some preferred to call her - had called everyone together a short while ago, setting Rai’s nerves on edge for some kind of emergency. Instead, it was apparently time to indulge some kind of workplace tradition; fantasy football, only with dead teens. Sure. As good a pastime as any.

Rai had radioed Josie for her pick, making sure she wouldn’t bitch the rest of them out for being left out like she had the last time, while she thumbed through the notes on who was left. She wasn’t sure who she’d go with; in her frank estimation none of the kids were a good pick. Ugh, she was going to end up betting on the army brat, wasn’t she?

“Urgh, the weird one who’s not a girl or whatever, Blaze or some shit.”

The overtired, depressed and scraggly-looking tech seated across the table from Rai - ‘seated’ was a strong word actually, he was more ‘slumped’ than anything - was absorbed in swiping through his phone that he held unconventionally close to his chest. “Tell Josie to go drown in a lake,” Dennis Lourvey mumbled. “All my desirable picks are out now, so what’s even the point?” He cleared his throat and downed a shot of red bull, one of two cans that he’d taken out for lunch along with a single protein bar and a sad-looking slice of cheese pizza. “I guess give me the running back DJ guy.”

Abby seemed more flustered than was usual. Rather than her normal dead-eyed wandering through the halls, she was aggressively slurping down ramen noodles at an adjacent table.

“I don’t have time for games and candy or whatever!” she said, slamming the cup of chicken-flavored water down. “One of my goddamn cameras is broken and idiot Ronald broke protocol and set off two explosions!”

The hand-wringing wreck of a man filling a tray of drinks at the counter behind Abby meekly piped up. “A-Actually, my name is Dona--”

But Abby was already gone, muttering numbers and swears into her styrofoam soup cup. Donald looked over to Rai and Lourvey before quickly averting his eyes and absconding with the drinks, headed for the accounting office.

"Ah, Mister...what was it?"

"Oh, j-just Donald is fine!"

Adi's smile dimmed as it did each time they had this exchange. He could pull the boy's file if he wanted to force the issue but it was a matter of respect; self-respect enough for Donald to raise his level of address, and respect enough for Adi to recognize his informality caused discomfort. Adi ignored his correction and reached for the tray. "You are here for my bet?" Presented with such an opportunity earlier in the proceedings Adi would have papered his office with documents of past and present relevance. Certain trends would emerge, he possessed no doubt towards the predictability of data, and they could be taken from abstraction to hard numbers. He could invent models of a sort not unlike a modern day talent scout surveying prospective recruits, and a short list of potential winners would form in time. Yes, he could have done the work.

The results would have likely been wildly inaccurate; these were not numbers he knew how to create let alone manipulate. It would have been an entertaining distraction, though. He wondered if he might take a run at it next year, then opted not to linger how comfortably he imagined that future. "I will take the disgraced...what was the word on his brow? Meninist?" Adi chuckled. "All around him lose their heads but he remains unharmed. Freshly armed as well. Mr. Mortimer will outlive them all."

Rai rolled her eyes at all of them and penciled in a set of initials by each selection. Domino had already picked the Nguyen girl, maybe hoping for a hat trick. Rai suspected she was soon to be disappointed.

Then again, maybe that was part of the point: the thrill of betting against overwhelming odds. With a sigh, Rai added the initials VR next to Faith Marshal-Mackenzie.

Tuesday, June 19, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Tracen sat down and despite how smoothly everything was going he was starting to lose sleep over the clean-up prep. Not because he was stressed about, that wasn't the case at all. No, it was just a lot of work to coordinate and organize. They needed everyone to understand what they needed to do and be ready to do it as soon as they were able. Some departments had already started work on some of their portions of the clean-up, getting as much done early as they could. He appreciated that sort of thing. But he had been careful to caution people not to lose their focus on the most important part of their job. They had already seen one incident caused by a lack of attention and focus, and he personally found it bothersome. But that was an issue for another time, he had his own job to do and an announcement to deliver. So after one final pass of his notes, he flipped the switch and brought all the speakers on the island to life.

"To begin today the buck stopped on Thomas Buckley who was shot by Sakurako Jackson.

"That's a nice simple one to start but make sure to focus because things are about to get messy. After a disagreement turned violent there was a firefight between Ivy Langley, Myles Roux, and Ace Ortega, that saw Myles shoot Ivy and Ace shoot Myles. You all with me? Good. I know that was a lot."

Tracen took a large gulp of coffee and then continued.

"Back to some of the simpler stuff, Diego Larrosa showed his mastery of the shovel once again when he used it to cut Camilla Bell's throat. It's becoming a signature of his so if you see him with it, protect your neck.

Tracen read the next two names on his list and scowled. He hated it when issues weren't dealt with or acted upon in a consistent fashion. It was one of the big issues of his furthers time at the helm of the Arthro Taskforce and he had taken great pains to bring in more consistent rulings across the board when he had been brought on. So the two deaths he had to read out next irked him.

"Next, the collars of Emmett Bunnell and Jonathan Meyers were detonated after they destroyed a camera during a fight. Do be careful with those - some of our camera monitors can be a little trigger-happy when their equipment gets damaged. It's quite expensive, you know."

Tracen drained the remaining of his mug and slammed it back down on his desk.

"We're in the home stretch for the day now as Yuka Hayashibara was filled with buckshot by Erika Stieglitz and bled out as a result. A simple and effective bit of murder there.

"Then after a fierce fistfight, Tyrell Lahti defeated Claudeson Bademosi by drowning him, which for those of you after a bit of trivia is the first kill via drowning we've had this version. Very exciting stuff. Mr. Lahti only had a short time to celebrate his victory however, and then the wounds he sustained during that fight did him in as well. Remember, kids: you can win the battle and still lose the war. Plenty have already."

"Our next kill indulged in a bit of the old ultraviolence, as after a bloody fight Lucas Abernathy was shot to death by Kelly Nguyen.

"Keeping the shootings going Abraham Watanabe finally saw the forest for the trees and as such filled Forrest Quin with lead. I don't approve of the pollution, but I approve of his results.

"And lastly, former contender Madison Springer had a bit of a tantrum and then decided to throw in the towel by shooting herself in the head. Try not to follow her example; it's very disappointing for the viewers at home."

Tracen slid his kill notes to one side and turned his attention to a new piece of paper.

"As your numbers continue to dwindle so to do the number of safe zones you have access to and today is no different as we are removing The Lower Wilds from play. If you can guess where we're going with this please send a postcard in, just hand it to one of the monkeys and they'll pass it to us as soon as they can.

"Finally we move onto the most exciting part of the day as congratulations are in order for Abe Watanabe. Your meal of chicken-fried steak and collard greens can found on The Beach, along with a little something extra on us. It'll be in that lovely VIP area; you know the place, it's the decking with the umbrellas.

"And that's everything for today, if you were planning on lying low until numbers were dwindling before you struck, now's the time to make your move. You'll thank me later. Until tomorrow kids; just remember, you're nearly home."

The Tenth Announcement
Wednesday, June 19, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 7 AM

The meeting in Adi’s office had been a short one, sort of a pre-show before the real opener of the night. As recently as twenty minutes ago, Lourvey had hoped that his involvement in tonight’s affairs would end there, raising a question that needed to be asked to the person best-equipped to answer it.

Something didn’t sit right with him ever since that time he met with Trent the other day. He was acting really sketch- and alright, the guy’s middle name could probably be ‘flaky’ for how he generally acted and carried himself, but even for Trent it was weird, claiming some weird fuckery in the pay system.

So Dennis Lourvey went to the man who could clear the air about it. It was a relief that Adi seemed to understand exactly what he’d been talking about. It was kind of concerning too, as if the accountant wasn’t the least bit surprised to learn that there was something a little off with Trent… and that’s when he dropped some beancounter knowledge. Now, here he was, gone from one office and headed to another.

Dennis hesitated slightly when he extended his wrist to knock. Unlike many of his peers, he didn’t find Tracen uncomfortable to be around. Heck, he got along with him a hell of a lot more than his old boss, so Danya Jr. was a breath of fresh air, really. It wasn’t Tracen he feared, but the delivery of the bad news… that it had to come from his mouth and he had to see the reactions first hand, plus the pressure of wording it properly as to neither downplay nor amp up the severity of the situation.

He could do this, he told himself, right before taking a deep breath and knocking.

“Come in.” Came Tracen’s muffled voice from behind the door. With just another second of trepidation, Lourvey pushed it open. On the other side of the door lied Tracen and Greynolds, one behind the desk and the other looming over his shoulder. Greynolds looked over at Lourvey, one hand deep in a bag of Bugle chips. He shoved a few in his mouth and then waved at him, twiddling his fingers like an elementary schooler. Greynolds then began the process of attempting to adorn his fingertips with those same chips. Dennis shuddered.

Tracen looked up from the files he had been studying and ran his eyes over Lourvey.

“What’s the matter Lourvey? You’re not about to tell me more cameras have been destroyed?”

“Ha!” Lourvey forced a pained chuckle. “Good news! It’s… it’s not that.” He pulled at the collar of his shirt. It had nothing to do with him. Tracen wasn’t going to be mad at him. But he was going to be mad… in general. “Actually, it’s about Tr- Dr. Camden.”

There was a pregnant pause as Tracen seemed to analyze Lourvey more closely than he had previously.

“What about Dr. Camden?”

Trent wouldn’t necessarily say that he prided himself on doing a good job - that was a silly, subjective thing to stake one’s pride on - but he had always trusted himself to do things competently. He was no neat freak, but his belongings were always organized in a way that made sense to him, whether on his desk or packed carefully into a few boxes. It struck him sometimes how easily a human life was packed away.

Nobody had asked - most people couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to Trent right now other than Lourvey when he came scrounging around for painkillers - but if they had, he’d have simply said that he was preparing to move on when the version ended, just like everyone else. He was just getting his preparations done a bit ahead of time. It wouldn’t have been a lie.

He had the occasional itch to check his email. He kept notifications turned off, so the only way to know if he’d gotten anything new was to check. He resisted, focusing instead on slowly and methodically folding clothes. He didn’t have too many sentimental items, or any at all, really. Function over form was Trent’s motto.

His mottos changed like the wind, much like his interests. Tying himself down to a profession where everyone expected you to settle in, establish yourself, make a name- he’d realized quickly that it was a mistake. So much for pursuing one’s passions. His current position had been a breath of fresh air, for a little while. But the Arthro Taskforce, in many ways as ingrained as the oldest hospitals, was just yet another career you were expected to enter and never leave.

In his own estimation, Trent had never yet set foot into a place that had no exit. If there was no obvious out, he would always make one.

The Titanic was a tired metaphor, but it was tried and true. Nothing was unsinkable. To Trent, the sinking of any organization was inevitable.

Why wait for the iceberg to come?

Why not be proactive?

There was a knock at his door.

“Come in,” Trent called without looking up.

One slip. One little bit of carelessness. One error, and it all came back to Dr. Trent Camden.

Tracen walked in with his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“Trent, I don’t feel like we’ve talked in a while. How have things been recently?”

Trent paused and then slowly straightened up and turned to face Tracen. “I’m quite well. What brings you by for a chat so suddenly? I hope Lourvey’s migraines haven’t been catching.”

He rarely spoke to Danya face to face. That was another thing that Trent was usually happy to pass off to Dr. Kelley, and Kelley at least seemed to have a cordial relationship with the man. Trent preferred to keep to himself for the most part, and his estimation was that Tracen did the same.

“No issues there, I’m feeling great.” Danya said as he leaned back to rest on the wall. “Just wanted to check in, see how our stocks are doing, check how morale is as the end of a version is coming up.” He shrugged. “You know, the basic stuff.”

Trent idly scratched at the blonde scruff on his cheek. “That’s very kind of you. I feel that morale is high, at least in my personal case.” He hadn’t known Tracen to take much interest in “morale” before. Perhaps cabin fever did go all the way to the top, at times.

“Good, that’s good.” Tracen nodded his head a little, seeming to be considering something. “Out of curiosity Trent, you wouldn’t know about any... irregularities in the pharmacy numbers would you?”

The casual rhythm of Trent’s movements was interrupted for a second, barely noticeable. “I don’t believe so. There hasn’t been anything of note besides Lourvey setting himself on the path of kidney damage if he carries on the way he has been.”

He leaned against the wall in a mirror of Tracen’s position. “Really, you shouldn’t trouble yourself with minutiae like that, Mr. Danya. Let us pencil-pushers worry about accounts.”

Tracen chuckled, shaking his head slightly, appearing to mutter Mr. Danya to himself. But when he spoke there was no trace of humor. “I’m not my father, I like to keep a close eye on all aspects of our operation here.” Tracen paused and seemed to scan the room before his gaze settled back onto Trent. “So I’m asking you, why are there irregularities in your numbers?”

Trent mulled over his answer for a moment. “There should be no irregularities. If there’s been an error somewhere, I don’t believe that it’s mine. I pride myself on being very careful.”

For a split second, his eyes flicked to the door over Tracen’s shoulder. “Have you spoken with Mr. Lawal about it? The hard number crunching is more his domain.”

Tracen took a long look at Trent’s face as a moment of silence passed between them. “Who have you been talking to?”

“Talking to? Lourvey, Kelley, yourself. I don’t socialize much while we’re on the job.”

“To be honest with you, I think Lourvey is terrible company.”

Trent chuckled, though there was a slight edge to it. “I think that’s a bit unfair, but to each his own.”

Tracen’s hands had remained in his pockets for the entire exchange, and Trent now noticed the tension in his shoulders even as Tracen tried to remain casual against the wall. He glanced at Tracen’s hidden hands.

Ah.

He read Tracen’s expression once more and summarily decided to exit the conversation before it could well and truly go south. There was no point in stalling if it was only delaying the inevitable.

“If you’ll excuse me-” Trent began before he made a break for the door.

He didn’t get very far.

Wednesday, June 19, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Tracen didn't waste any time taking his seat. He placed a still lightly steaming cup of coffee off the one side of his desk and quickly skimmed through his notes with narrowed eyes. Once he was satisfied everything was in order and to his liking he cleared his throat and clicked on the speakers.

"Good morning all of you that remain. You have once again proven yourselves to be the top of the class in the art of surviving or maybe you're just lucky, either way you're still alive and that's the important part. After all, there are only 30 of you left."

He gave them only a second to absorb that before launching right into things.

"Today started with a big burst of activity so stick with me here. Helena Fury was the first to go when she was shot by Lori Martin.

"Immediately after that Valerija Bogdanovic shot her own collar, which is not the direction you want to shoot in.

"Lori Martin didn't waste any time following her first kill and went and shot Paloma Salt as well. We were surprised it hadn't happened sooner."

Tracen dramatically inhaled as he came to the end of the first batch.

"Okay that was a lot wasn't it? Anyway, now that we've got that out of the way we can settle in for a more relaxing time... oh wait no, there was another melee. So Violet Schmidt was killed first when Teresa Rojas drowned her, but then Teresa herself was shot by Blaise d'Aramitz. You kids really went for it today, I'm impressed.

"This time we can settle in for the relaxing stuff for real, as Juliette Sargent died in a nice simple case of collar explosion due to remaining in a danger zone. A nice and simple one for you all to appreciate.

"Following that-"

Tracen stopped and gave an exaggerated sigh as he read the next pair of names.

"Turns out our reprieve is brief, as Shauna Cooke and Angie Cortez were both shot by our favorite fuck-up Justin Greene. He's a hard worker, that boy.

"Following that we gave a more quiet and subdued death as Princess McQuillan finally bled out from wounds inflicted on her by Blaise d'Aramitz, who manages to get the rare cross-island double kill.

"If you like your daily dose of betrayal and tragedy, Marceline Carlson has you covered as she cut the throat of her friend Amelia Fischer. I don't know which one of them was more surprised."

Tracen paused to take a sip of the coffee he'd left abandoned on his desk before he continued.

"Moving onto our final two kills of the day. First, I must sadly report that our newest entry to the killing team Lori Martin was gunned down by Ace Ortega. But don't worry guys, we're going to get straight on the horn to Tracee Bluebell to get a tribute single prepared."

"And finally, there was an explosive debate between Diego Larrosa and Henry Sparks that Diego came out on the winning end of.

"Now that we have reached the end of our kill updates it is time to announce your danger zone for the day. Since you've all had plently of time to enjoy the creature comforts on offer there The Village is now off-limits. You know the deal by now, if you go there you will go boom. If you have forgotten what the other danger zones are... well, tough luck. Tread carefully, and be ready to run.

"Now to finally finish off today, we must congratulate Marceline Carlson. Your meal of a buffalo chicken pizza and a two-liter of Sprite can be found in the Infirmary, along with something else you can use to continue your good work.

"And that's all for today. Congratulations on getting this far but don't mess it up now; I'm sure your parents would be very disappointed if you did."

The Eleventh Announcement
Wednesday, June 20, 2018: INTERPOL Liaison Office, Bangkok, Thailand

Rhea sat staring at her laptop. She couldn't believe what she was reading. Not the content so much, she had always harbored her own suspicions about some of the details they confirmed. But the fact Art had produced full personnel files for members of the Arthro Taskforce was a shock. Rhea had requested them more as a dream scenario, but hadn't expected to actually receive that information. Art had relayed her some of what she had requested though; most importantly they had managed to produce information on Tracen himself. As soon as she had seen it she had made several requests for documents held by the American military. There were delays and excuses that she had originally put down to the typical issues with the enormity of the American military complex, but now that she had the files in front of her she was starting to see that there may have been ulterior motives at play.

Tracen Danya was formerly of the US Army. He was also supposed to be KIA. The United States had been in possession of the information prior to the fifth version of Survival of the Fittest. The entire time the games had been going on under Tracen's command, the Americans had been aware that he wasn't dead, they had known he had gone rogue. But they hadn't told anyone; the information had been buried out of fear of the potential PR damage. Art had also provided her with the personnel files for two former cops and an honorably discharged Explosive Ordnance Disposal specialist. Using what other information she had been able to dig up on other members of the organization, Rhea had been able to come to some educated guesses that all led her to the conclusion that whatever Survival of the Fittest was, the United States government knew about it and had to a degree enabled its existence.

The enormity of that realization hung in the air as she sat at her desk, staring at Tracen Danya's photo.

Eventually, she reached out and picked up the phone. She didn't care who she woke up, or who she angered. She needed interviews with the surviving members of S.T.A.R. and she needed to speak to the CIA.

Thursday, June 21, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

Tracen's mood had not improved any after having a day to stew over what had happened. In short, he was furious. There had been a major security breach, and no one could give him an acceptable answer as to how and why it had occurred. It all combined to anger him to no end. He'd tasked Greynolds with conducting a prompt assessment of the situation and putting a plan of action together for how they would proceed. Greynolds had nodded and told him to expect a full report within the next day or two. Tracen had been happy enough with that answer but it still bothered him. He had been in half a mind to skip doing the announcement and delegate the job to someone else, but then he had realised that would be letting on that something was wrong. So far they had managed to keep the number of people aware of the issue to only those that needed to know and he planned on keeping it that way. So he had taken some time to compose himself before working on his material, and as he settled in to give the daily announcement he was feeling slightly better.

"Good morning, everyone.

"First up today, Sakurako Jackson ran out of luck as Justin Greene shot her.

"Nick Ogilvie was also shot by Marceline Carlson, who picked the perfect time to get involved in our game.

"Next up we have a someone returning after an absence, as Arizona Butler filled Garren Mortimer with lead when he finally grew a spine. You hate to see it."

Tracen shook his head for his own benefit and took a quick sip of his coffee before continuing.

"Some might say Manuel Figueroa didn't even see it coming when Blaise d'Aramitz shot him, but that's how it goes sometimes. No one lives forever after all.

"Continuing her kills for the day, Arizona Butler blew Michael Froese's head apart when she finally caught up with him. Considering how much that boy talked, it was probably a good rest for his brain."

He had a second sip of his coffee.

"Another double kill today as Katrina Lavell was shot and killed by Justin Greene, who continues to add to his already impressive count. I'd watch out for that boy if I were you.

"Stephanie McDonald also fell to a repeat killer for the day as Blaise d'Aramitz beat and then shot her. At least she looked nice before her face got rearranged.

"We finish things off with a good old fashioned team kill as Connor Lorenzen got shot by his own running back, Ace Ortega.

"And as your days with us wind down so too do the remaining areas you can play in, as such Serenity Lake and The Waterfall are now danger zones. So don't go there unless you want a case of the boomies.

"Our final piece of business today is, of course, the best kill award, which today goes to Arizona Butler for the second time! Congratulations your prize and a meal of BBQ ribs and root beer can be found at the Waterfall Overlook.

"That's everything for today, so until tomorrow remember to have fun and keep those kills coming kids, goodbye!"

The Twelfth Announcement
Thursday, June 21, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 5:45 P.M.

Rai had a fucking headache. She’d been clenching her jaw, practically grinding her teeth, for most of the day. Ever since Lourvey and the other nerds figured out just what it was that Trent had spilled before he was found out, she’d been torn between seething rage and cold dread. She hadn’t bothered to be gentle or careful when she tossed his body. It felt a little like revenge.

Trent had always struck Rai as someone who liked playing stupid games, and he’d been true to that up to the very last. He could have had their whole operation in flames if he’d just given location coordinates, but instead he’d tried to gamble. Hoping for immunity, maybe. Or maybe he just thought it was fucking funny.

What he’d given the authorities was names and histories, and Rai had been among the members of the AT who got rumbled. It pissed her off in layers - there was the violation of her personal privacy, the helpless anger that she was now a liability through no fault of her own, and the fact that she hadn’t ever taken the opportunity to punch Trent in his stupid smug face while he could feel it.

The kicker was mostly that she didn’t know what to expect now. You didn’t get “let go” from an organization like this unless you went the way that Trent did, but if that was going to happen to her, it was going to happen to everybody whose information got leaked. Some of them were too valuable to the operation to lose; Rai could guess that even if she was being kept in the dark as to who else there was in the same boat. Minimizing the risk of who else could spring a leak, now that everyone knew there was danger, she guessed.

And the other thing - if it was going to happen to her, it would have happened by now. Rai was still here and able to seethe, so she was still valuable. At least more valuable alive than dead. She wasn’t about to fucking compromise that, so when the guys up top said to start closing up shop, she did her part. There was nothing else she could do even if she wanted to.

Moving was inherently stressful no matter the situation. Moving at work? Forget about it. With work like theirs? Come on. Donald was brand new to the operation but he had learned very quickly that ignorance was bliss. Especially when it came to the finer workings of things, especially when shit hit the fan. He didn’t need to know specifics. Nothing good came of getting in too deep. Donald knew that more than most. A few people here had just now figured that out.

Things didn’t get much deeper than Jim Greynolds appearing at your door though. Especially when he did so holding a familiar bottle of champagne and two glasses.

“Don! Donnie! Donzo,” Greynolds exclaimed with that trademark Greynolds smirk that didn’t quite reach his bespectacled eyes, “I got a favor to ask of you.”

Of course he did.

Greynolds made himself at home in Donald’s humble quarters sitting right on the intern’s bed and casually throwing the two glasses down and popping the bottle of champagne. Donald ducked to dodge the cork and subsequently lost it in his bedroom. Greynolds merely shrugged sheepishly as the Dom made its way onto Don’s sheets.

“What is it sir?”

Greynolds poured one glass and took a hearty sip. He downed half quickly and puckered his lips. Smacking them together very, very loudly.

“I need you to get some boxes,” another sip, “Go over to my office,” another, “And pack everything.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Donald, c’mon, we’re buddies,” Greynolds said as he finished his glass and then threw the empty container onto Donald’s pillow, “I’m not the type of person who makes jokes. You know me better than that.”

Donald really didn’t but what could he really say? This wasn’t just anybody.

“Okay,” Donald said uneasily, “But what do you mean pack everything?”

Greynolds reached for the second glass and filled it to the brim. He got up from the bed with both the bottle and glass in hand. Greynolds took a large sip from it before he handed the glass off to Donald.

“I mean pack everything,” Greynolds said this time with a deathly serious look on his face, “Don’t look at anything, don’t think about anything.”

“Alright,” Donald held the glass with skepticism but spoke with some fraudulent confidence, “I get it.”

“I’m serious Donnie,” the smile returned to his face and still didn’t reach his eyes, “Because I’m a serious guy,” Greynolds walked towards his doorway, “You see a spiked paddle and a leather mask--don’t think,” he waved his finger, “Just pack that shit. Pack everything--don’t look at anything, don’t think about anything,” Greynolds smiled, “We on the same page?”

Packing things up was inherently stressful no matter what the situation. What was more stress?

“Of course.”

“See Don? That’s why I don’t believe all that stuff that people say about you.”

“Wait--what?”

Greynolds left the room quickly and without answering. Donald didn’t end up drinking the champagne.

Friday, June 22, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 9 AM

The breaking down and packing up procedure had begun in earnest. Tracen was pleased by how quickly everyone had set about handling their jobs. He didn't doubt that news had spread about the events of the prior days and as a result, everyone felt the need to get out of the area as soon as possible. He didn't mind that though, to a degree he felt the previous packing up periods had been slow and burdened by an unearned assurance in their position. In a way, a scare like that had done everyone some good. So he was in a much better mood as he settled down with his cup of coffee for another morning check-in with the kids.

"Good morning all of you. I'm sure you must be aware that in only a few days our time together will come to an end. It is a shame I know, but sadly all good things must eventually end. Let's not falter, everyone has been exemplary so far and I fully expect you all to live up to those standards going forward.

"But enough sentimentality, let's get down to it.

"First up, Ace Ortega dropped a beat-ing on Justin Greene.

"Following that we were treated to a wonderful double kill as Erika Stieglitz struck again, shooting Matthew Hunt and then gutting Zachary Beck in quick succession, establishing herself as one to watch going into the final days. As for Matthew and Zachary... well... they tried."

Tracen chuckled to himself and took a sip of coffee.

"In a bit of dramatic irony, Darlene Silva grew a spine and shot Arizona Butler. You hate to see it.

"After that Anna Herbert got rocked when Marceline Carlson cleaved her chest open. Miss Carlson didn't have much time to dwell on her actions though as Marco Hart struck her with a bolt from the blue soon after.

"Not everyone was a winner though, as Aurelien Valter faltered under the spotlight and was shot by Blaise d'Aramitz as a result.

"Then the action continued as Diego Larrosa sent Morgan Dragosavich to see the fish when he pushed him off the cliff. We did warn you about those being unsafe.

"Now, as your days with us wind down so too do the remaining areas you can play in. As such The Woodlands are now off-limits to you all.

"Our final piece of business today is, of course, the best kill award, which today goes to Ace Ortega! Congratulations. Your all-important prize of a weapon, along with a chicken fried steak with a side of macaroni and cheese and a nice chilled can of Tennessee beer, can be found at Nature's Lookout.

"And that's all for today! You're all so close to the end, so dig down deep and go for that final push to victory!"

The Thirteenth Announcement
Friday, June 22, 2018: Undisclosed Location, 5:45 P.M.

Tracen sat reading through the final reports of the version. He was absentmindedly flipping through the pages he had been provided. His thoughts dwelling on the earlier issue, they had been compromised. Truly compromised for the first time in his tenure as leader of the organization. It was bothersome. But all things considered, it could have been far worse. Only a limited amount of information was leaked by their treacherous pharmacist and they had managed to contain most of the details about what had happened. At least, that was how things appeared and how Greynolds report had presented the situation. As things stood Tracen was quietly confident that they could deal with the fallout. In fact, he had received the first briefings on potential locations for the eighth iteration of their game. He had taken a brief look over the dossiers, mainly focusing on the pictures provided and the bullet point summaries. He would read the full descriptions later on, once they had fully extracted from the island. The clean-up was nearly done, the only cameras that were left were the ones that were required to follow the final participants and capture their final confrontation.

All that was left was for that final confrontation to occur. Tracen cast his eyes over the dossiers again. He was contemplating something, considering the implications. Eventually, he pulled out a phone and dialed Greynolds.

"Jim, come meet me. I have an idea you might be interested in."

Saturday, June 23, 2018: Undisclosed Location

It was that time again. Tracen was settling in for the final announcement of another game. Granted things had moved a bit ahead of where they expected, but sometimes that happened, especially when people dropped dead before you could get to the microphone. Regardless, everything was good and they were still on schedule to produce a winner and get off the island, it was all ticking along nicely.

"Good evening, children."

Tracen's voice emerged from all the speakers across the island, echoing around the deserted houses and buildings.

"This is it, we've reached the end of our time together you and I well, once only one of you remains it will be the end."

Tracen took a sip of coffee.

"But before that, we have to go through a final rundown of the deaths.

First up, Faith Marshal-Mackenzie was blown up after remaining in a danger zone. There's a few possible jokes there so I'll leave it to you to choose whichever one you'd prefer.

Darlene Silva bit the dust next as Erika Stieglitz continued her record-breaking streak. It's a shame because we'd just found out who she was. I'll miss Darienne.

For our next kill Abraham Watanabe reconnected with an old friend; sadly that old friend was Marco Hart, so it ended in a murder.

We have a rare shared kill next as whatever was left of Kelly Nguyen absorbed bullets from both Diego Larrosa and Erika Stieglitz.

This was followed up with a big brawl as Diego Larrosa was choked by someone other than himself when Ace Ortega put an end to him. Mr. Ortega didn't get a chance to get any satisfaction however as Marco Hart shot him. And just when you thought it was over, Marco blew himself up... Seems people enjoy doing that when we reach the end.

Christina Rennes finally ran out of road and got to watch her blood run out after Willow O'Neal put a bullet in her guts.

Uh, there's a name here I don't recognize. Dari-yuh Bhatia? Oh! Daria Bhatia...still don't recognize that name. Anyway! She died after damaging our cameras — can't say we didn't warn you.

There was then bit of a gun safety issue leading to a small explosion. Don't worry though, Katelynne Kirkpatrick caught all the shrapnel with her body. Erika Stieglitz picks up the credit for this one, but she also ran into a bit of an issue when Garnet Barnes shot her up. There goes our high-scorer.

Finally, after a bit of a delay — which I feel has been a theme this go-round — Blaise d'Aramitz bled out due to the wounds inflicted upon them by Aurelien Valter. Guess he didn't falter as much as we first thought."

Tracen shrugged.

"And that leaves us with two. The final two. The top of the heap. Of all of your classmates, you have been the most successful. To save everyone time and to avoid the awkwardness of those initial meetings, allow us to give a quick rundown of the pair of you — just so you already know a bit about each other when you meet.

Willow O'Neal, you're an interesting one, aren't you? The girl who can't decide if she's a hater or a lover, who wants to be an emotionless user but is only lying to herself. Well, you're out of chances now. There's no one else to take the bullet for you. You have to stand on your own. Do you think you're up to it? Do you think you can cope when you're truly by yourself fending for your life? It's something to think about, I suppose.

Garnet Barnes, you've been a bit of a dark horse. After multiple chances and a lot of talk, you finally plucked up the courage to kill a killer. How did it feel? Did it make you feel good? Regardless, there's no time for self-doubt or second-guessing now; only one person gets to walk away. If you want that person to be you, you better get your head in the game.

One of you will get the chance to speak to me face-to-face. For the other, this will be the final communication we have.

Head to the The Manor House. Once you are both there, the rest of the island will permanently become a danger zone. If you try to leave you will blow up, so I advise staying inside. Once a winner has been decided they will be able to leave."

Good luck, give everyone at home a good show. I eagerly await the winner of this cage match."